The Color of Red
by JaiWong
Summary: A story depicting how the lives of Hojo, Reno and Rufus may have crossed in earlier times. Nothing remotely citrusy about this story. And I think I got the HTML problem fixed.
1.

The Color of Red

((note: the name "Rufus" actually means "red" in Latin))

He huddled farther back into the corner in which he hid. Hid from his father, hid from the pain, hid from the fear. Hid from the world. 

He whimpered softly to himself. Gently, he pressed one side of his aching face to the cool wall of the hallway. Alone.

Hundreds of questions raced through his mind, but he had no answers for them. He never did. 

The blood was gone. He had wiped it away from his lips, his face, his hands. So much blood. Dazedly, he wondered when it first started that he couldn't stand the sight of the color of red.

Red, the color of his blood. Red, the color of his father's suits. Red, the color of the lights that exploded inside his head whenever a hand struck him. Red, the color that stained his clothes.

Red showed up so terribly well on white. 

He bent over his lab table, greasy black hair hanging in his face. It hid him from he public, hid him from their protests, hid him from their ethics. Hid him from his conscience.

He chuckled softly, how ironic. That one word "conscience," the thing he lacked, also held the word hat he gave it up for. "Science." 

Hundreds of answers raced through his mind, but they lacked the right questions. They always did.

The specimens were gone. He had taken them from their cages and moved them elsewhere, keeping only small samples. Except one. He gazed at the operating table in front of him, littered with red.

Red, the color of the man's eyes, who now lay strapped to the table. Red, the color of the tuft of fur that lay under a microscope. Red, the color of the rage he felt from the man's mind. 

Red was such a powerful color.

He leaned back against the wall and tapped his weapon at his side. It was what kept him safe from others. Safe from his past. Safe from power. Safe from himself.

He sighed softly, it hurt. Memories from the past welled up despite his repeated attempts to forget. Broken.

Hundreds of pictures raced through his mind, but they were all devoid of happiness. There was none.

His old life was gone. He had deliberately buried it in the furthest reaches of his cold heart. It returned. Vainly, he tried to push the thoughts from his mind, the thoughts filled with the color of red. 

Red, the color of his unruly hair, once shared by his sister. Red, the color of his knife after he had wrecked his vengeance. Red, the color of the streets in the Midgar slums.

Red permanently stained his soul.


	2. 

"What are ya doing here?" 

Startled, Rufus looked up from where he lay curled on the floor. He winced involuntarily, thinking it was his father. Instead, he looked into a pair of amazingly intense green eyes, partially covered by a shock of fiery hair. 

"I asked you a question, kid," the man said, tapping a long rod against his leg. "Whatcha doing in here?" He narrowed his eyes. The boy had to be the President's whelp, Rufus Shinra. He had his father's blond hair and good looks. At least, he would have if his lip hadn't been split and if the entire left side of his face hadn't been swollen.

"I-I-" Rufus shook his head, unable to come up with an explanation. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll get out of your way." Slowly, painfully, he tried to stand but only got as far as his knees when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

"Hold on, kid." The man tilted the boy's face to the light and examined the damage. "What the hell happened to ya?" 

Rufus shrugged and turned his face away. "I got in a fight," he said softly. 

The man studied the boy. He didn't like it when people lied to him, but it was pretty easy to guess what had really happened. And if that was the case, then he didn't blame the boy for lying. 

"So where were ya going when ya decided to stop in the middle of my hallway?" A slight embellishment. The hallway wasn't really his, but it was his favorite place to go and think when he needed to.

No answer. Instead, two tears leaked past the boy's eyes and dripped onto his clothes. He sniffed and wiped his eyes as he tried to come up with a plausible answer to the man's questions. 

"Ah, never mind. I'll just get ya cleaned up and get ya the hell outta here." The man stood Rufus on his feet, but before either of them could take more than a single step, a door opened beside Rufus.

"What is going on here?" a voice hissed from inside. Moments later, a man dressed in a lab coat stepped out and peered at the man and boy. 

"Nothing, Hojo. Jes' getting this boy here taken care of." Hojo glanced at the boy again, then turned away indifferently. 

"_Rufus!_" 

The boy cringed at the sound of his name being roared through the corridors. Hojo and the other man spun around in time to see President Shinra storming down the long hallway in search of his son.

"Rufus! There you are, boy." Shinra grabbed the boy's wrist and jerked him away from the man's grasp. "What the hell are you doing?" Rufus shook his head and looked at the ground.

"Answer me!" Shinra backhanded his son with such force that the other man raised an eyebrow. 

Rufus just whimpered and held a trembling hand to his bleeding lip. Seeing as he wasn't going to get an answer from his son, Shinra turned to the other man. "What was going on here?" he demanded. 

"I found your son curled up in the hallway, here," the man said calmly, resting his weapon over one shoulder. "Seeing as he was obstructing the way, I was going to take him elsewhere." Shrugging, he turned and walked away, his blue, un-buttoned jacket streaming behind him.

"And you?" snapped Shinra, spinning around to face the Hojo.

The scientist shrugged. "I need complete and total concentration to execute my work," he said. "And with these two making such a commotion right outside my lab, that proved to be impossible. I was about to ask them to leave." 

Snarling, the president turned away, dragging the boy along beside him. Rufus shivered, a cold knot of dread settling in his heart, as his father slammed the door to his office.

"Now," Shinra said, throwing the boy to the floor in the middle of the room. "I'll teach you never to make a nuisance of yourself again..."


	3. 

Back in his own room, Reno stretched out on his bed, hands behind his head. Even after three months of working for ShinRa, it was still hard to accustom himself to the relative luxuries of being a Turk. 

Seventeen. Damn. He was too young. Too young to have lived the life he had, too young to have lost so much, too young for all the scars on his world-weary soul. 

To goddamn young.

He closed his eyes, thinking that he might be able to sleep tonight. But instead, he saw her face. That beautiful, innocent face. His eyes flew open. No sleep for him tonight. He knew that if he closed his eyes, allowed himself to drift away, the nightmares would come again.

Sighing, he swung is feet over the edge of the bed and stood, pulling on his jacket. The only sleep he would get would be when he passed out over the bar. If that could even be called sleep.

He knew what people thought about him. Knew they called him a drunk. A waste of skin and air.

Soulless. 

He knew.

But they were the ones who didn't know. Didn't know how he drowned himself in alcohol just so he could have some peace from his own nightmarish mind. Didn't know that his soul had died in the slums, lying in a pool of her own blood. Didn't know how he had tried to join her. 

But then there had been T'seng. His savior. His mentor. His killer.

T'seng had taken him off the streets, away from the slums and into another world of cruelty and deceit. The only difference between his new life and his old was that now, he was paid for the things he did. 

T'seng had taught him everything he knew. How to shoot. How to kill. How to block his ears from the screams he caused, how to silence his own conscience until his heart as cold as the corpses he made.

T'seng had made him more ruthless and cold-blooded than living in the streets could have, if such a thing were possible. Any remnants of a conscience that he might have had were brutally crushed under T'seng's tutelage until Reno wondered if he were still a man.

You could take a man out of the slums, he thought as he walked down to the bar. But you couldn't take the slums out of the man. They made their mark too deeply in his heart, his soul, his being.

When he entered the bar, Reno made his way over to the nearest empty stool. The barman recognized him as he sat down and poured him a double whiskey. 

"Wait." Reno stopped the man before he could leave. "Leave the bottle." 

"Sir?" The barman hesitated.

"You heard me." Reno's tone brooked no argument.

"Yes, sir." Leaving the bottle on the table, he turned to attend to another customer.

Reno nursed his first drink carefully, trying to put his whirlwind mind in some semblance of order. But as he unleashed long buried memories one by one, he found that he needed the alcohol to help him cope with the pain.

_Lying in his bed, trying to shut out the screams from downstairs_. One shot of whiskey. Poof, gone.

_Hearing the door slam behind him as he and his sister were thrown out onto the streets by their own uncle_. Another shot. Buried.

_Trying to quiet his sister's cries of hunger while his own stomach cramped with emptiness_. That one took two shots before it disappeared.

_The feeling of the back of a hand connecting with his jawbone when he was caught stealing food_. Down another shot. Fffft, vanished.

_Standing on the side of the street, selling himself so that they could have enough money to survive_. One shot. Another. Another. It took three shots for that one to go away.

The memories came faster now, harder. He was more than halfway through the bottle. 

_A knife slashing his skin as was initiated into one of the Sector gangs_. That one left easily. 

_Explaining to his sister why they had no parents, no food, no home, no money_. He let that one burn in his mind before dispatching it with another shot. 

_Watching her cry on cue at the side of the street, distracting passers by long enough for him to take their gil_. He poured himself four shots before that memory even dimmed.

_Seeing her young face smile proudly as she tried to gain his approval by showing him the things she had stolen_. He emptied the bottle trying to forget that one, but in vain.

He called for another bottle. The room was spinning now, but the memories came in swarms.

_Hearing the window shatter as a rival gang took his sister away from him into the night_. 

_Seeing her body, broken and bleeding, face down in the gutter, a bullet through her young heart_.

_Feeling his rage build up inside of him as he stalked down the gang's base each and every night_.

_Letting his heart grow cold as thoughts of vengeance burned his mind_.

_Staring his enemy in the face as he pulled the trigger of his gun, feeling the hot blood spatter onto his own face_.

Hearing the sickening sound of a knife plunging into his chest, his own hands on the hilt, his last thought before he passed out knowing he should have done better for her.

Opening his eyes to see a man standing over him. _A man who's words changed his life forever_. 

_Reno_._ My name is T'seng_._ I've been watching you_.

_Damn him! _Reno slammed his shot glass onto the bar with such force that he heard it crack. Damn him to the lowest of hells. _I wanted to kill him_, he remembered. _I wanted to die and he wouldn't let me_. _He saved my life that night, but killed my heart_._ Killed my soul_. And yet, he found, as he always did, that he could not bring himself to hate the man. T'seng had done him a favor that he didn't understand until weeks later. Reno had wanted to die. But death was too merciful for the likes of him. Now he lived day in and day out with a pain in his soul, scars so deep that they couldn't be seen but still bled. They would bleed until the day that the Fates decided that he had suffered enough and then he would be able to rest. But until then he would absolve himself of his sins through the pain of living; his own private mortal hell. 

Suddenly, he was aware that someone was standing beside him. Aware of eyes boring into his fallen head. 

_Go away_, he thought viciously. _Go away and leave me to my torment_. But the man stayed, and so did the eyes. Finaly, Reno looked up. And up. 

Six and a half feet above the ground, a pair of black sun-glasses looked down at him. What Reno could see of his face was perfectly expressionless, not even neutral. Just blank.

"Go 'way," Reno slurred, dropping his head again. The man did not move, and Reno caught a glimpse of a familiar blue suit just before his head hit the bar. Dammit. Another Turk.

"Wha'ya want?" His voice was muffled by his arms and a solid oak slab, but the other man understood him perfectly. 

"Reno?"

"Yeah, that's me. Did T'seng send you to find me?" 

"..."

"Guess not." Wearily, he picked his head up from the bar and looked back up at the stranger. "Who are you, anyway?" 

"...Rude." The tall man sat down beside Reno and motioned for the barman to get him a drink.

"Well then, 'Rude,' why're ya comin' to look fer me?" The alcohol had gone straight to his head. For a moment, he had the crazy belief that he was back in the slums, talking with his fellow gang members. Or enemies.

"There's a mission next week. You, T'seng and I." 

"Fabulous." He groaned in disbelief. This man had searched him out, interrupting his nightly self-torture at the bar to talk about something occurring seven days later.

Seven bloody days. He said as much.

"Don't flatter yourself." Rude poured himself a drink and drained it slowly. "I came for a drink. Saw you here. Thought you might be Reno." 

"Oh." Reno sat there for a moment, digesting what he had been told. Slowly, deliberately, he picked up his shot glass and set it back down. He did this several times in slow succession. "Damn." The bottom of the glass was cracked through, and what little whiskey had been left had by that time pooled in a ring around the glass. 

Drunkenly, Reno stared at the puddle. He wanted another drink, but was unwilling to give up his glass. Somehow, his drunken mind was trying to convince him that having the glass in hand meant he was set for another drink. Regardless of it's current condition.

"..." Silently, Rude watched his co-worker in all his half-drunken glory. He motioned for the barman to get another glass and slid a few bills over to pay for the minor damage. Deftly, without wasting a single movement, he filled the new glass, plucked Reno's broken one out of his hand and replaced it with the whole one without him even knowing. 

Without hesitating, Reno drained his newly acquired drink with amazing alacrity and tried to pour himself another.

Rude was amazed, and amused, at how even though drunk past the point of coherence, Reno was still able to tell the difference between a full glass and an empty one by feel alone.

But enough was enough. Waiting for Reno to release his grip on the neck of the bottle, Rude calmly took it and slid it down the bar. 

"Wha-?" Reno lifted his bleary eyes from the bar and tried to focus on something. Anything.

"You're drunk." 

"Yeah, so?" Reno dropped his head back into his arms. "That's th' idea. I get drunk enough, they lemme 'lone." 

"They?" A single brow rose in question.

"Yeah. Them goddamn mem'ries. An' them words, too." 

"Words?" 

"You know what they say. All them people 'round here, what they say 'bout me." He laughed bitterly. "I'm jes' a drunken idiot street punk tha' got pulled offa th' streets. Only reason I'm a Turk s'caus I ain't got no soul. And they're right, too. M'soul's dead. M'heart, too." His usually handsome face twisted in pain. "'N _she's_ dead. She's dead. _Dead!_" he suddenly screamed, rising to his feet. Closing his eyes, he threw his shot glass into the mirrored shelves behind the bar with such force that shards of glass flew everywhere. 

"She's dead," he sobbed, sinking back onto the barstool. 

Minorly dismayed, Rude assessed the damage in he bar, completely expressionless. Broken glass was everywhere, behind the bar, on the floor, the tables. Spilled alcohol was beginning to pool everywhere, and it was already dripping from every nearby countertop. 

He sighed, inwardly. ShinRa _did_ pay him well...

Sighing again, he reached for his wallet. After counting out bills twice, he shook his head and handed the entire wad over the counter to the barman who was rising shakily from the floor behind the counter.

"Just get him out of here," the barman said, pushing the money back at Rude. "I don't want this to turn out like the last time."

"'Last time?'" Rude raised an eyebrow. 

"Yeah, a buddy of mine was on duty when it happened. He got dead drunk and started smashing things, but then he got violent and started screaming stuff at some of the customers. Got a couple guys with that rod there. Fried 'em up good. So if you'd just get him out now, before he really starts causing trouble, I'll forget about all this," he waved at the damage behind him.

"..." Rude re-pocketed his wallet and glanced at Reno, who was still sobbing on the bar. After a moment of consideration, he pulled him to his feet and threw one arm over his shoulder. 

"Wha's goin' on?" Reno looked at Rude dazedly. 

"...You're going back to your apartment." Without another word, Rude half dragged, half carried Reno out of the bar and back to his room. 

After what seemed like hours later, Rude finaly got Reno to his place and lay him down on the bed. He passed on the idea of trying to return him to responsiveness and instead went into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. While trying to find a glass, he was surprised at the amount of liquor Reno kept in his apartment. Briefly, Rude wondered why the younger man even bothered going to the bar when he had everything he needed to get dead drunk for a week right in the comforts of his own home.

Back in his own place, Rude sat in a large chair facing the front door, leaving his sunglasses on. He was surprised to find that his usually dormant curiosity was slightly piqued at Reno's strange character. For a moment, he wondered who the "she" was that he had been talking about in the bar, then shook his head. He had never been one to pry, and he would find out soon enough if Reno decided to tell him. But, he admitted as he reached up to turn off the light, he _was_ mildly intrigued. 


	4. 

"Hojo? Doctor Hojo?" 

Annoyed, Hojo looked up from the lab table he hunched over. "Yes?" he asked, his voice heavy with barely concealed anger.

"I have an important message for you." 

Scowling, Hojo turned back to the table and began re-arranging the vials of chemicals with infinite care and deliberation. Anyone who had known him for any period of time would have taken that as a signal to get the hell out of his lab as soon as possible, important message or not. 

However, the messenger was either new or too stupid to recognize the warning signs and stood, albeit nervously, unmoving in the doorway. 

"It's from President Shinra," he persisted, wary about staying, unwilling to leave. "It's about his son." 

_His son?_ Hojo straightened momentarily. Odd...

Dimly aware that he had Hojo's attention, the fool messenger continued, unaware that he was signing his own death warrant. "You are to report to his office immediately, putting aside all other activities, regardless of their importance." Here, he smirked smugly at the scientist. "I am to use whatever means necessary to escort you, should you be unwilling to present yourself."

It was the smirk that did it. Calmly, Hojo selected a tiny vial and turned to face the messenger. "That won't be necessary," he said smoothly. "I am quite able to escort myself without any assistance." He strode past the confused messenger and out the door. Just as he reached the hallway, he turned and smiled thinly at the man. 

"If you would, however, be so kind as to take care of a small matter for me while I'm gone?" Hojo asked, his voice smooth and compelling.

"But- my job-" 

Hojo cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense, it won't take but a moment," he assured him. "I just want you to take this bottle," he tossed the vial to the man, "and bring it over to that corner." He pointed to it, making sure the man knew exactly where he was talking about. "Then I want you to open it and set it on one of those shelves. Understand?" The messenger nodded dumbly, holding the vial at arms' length, as if though it would leap out of his hands at any given moment and bite him. 

"Good." Hojo turned to leave. He smiled grimly to himself as he heard a shrill scream issue from the direction of his laboratory, then crossed the hallway to the elevators that led to Shinra's office. The _bottle _might not bite, but as for what was _inside_...

Hojo chuckled, then sighed. One day, Shinra was going to wonder what had become of all his flunkies- but then again, DarkSouls had to eat _something_. 

He rearranged his features into an expression of extreme boredom and indifference as the elevators stopped at the top floor. Swiftly, he extracted his keycard and stepped out into Shinra's well appointed office. 

"You wished to see me, Mr. President?" he asked, clasping his hands together in front of him. 

"Professor Hojo. Yes." Shinra looked up from the papers strewn over his desk and put aside his pen. Hojo wrinkled his nose slightly at the mess, but said nothing. 

"Now, Hojo," Shinra said, clasping his hands over his slightly bulging mid-section, "I know that being a scientist of your caliber involves a large amount of work, does it not?" 

Hojo nodded. He wondered where this conversation was going. 

"And, there are times, are there not, when you would find your work load to be a lot lighter if you had an assistant? Even one who only did the most minor tasks?" 

Again, Hojo nodded. Now he had a feeling he knew what was coming next, but he was nevertheless surprised at the President's next words.

"I'm going to apprentice my son to you for a while, Hojo," Shinra said. "Whenever he has a free moment from lessons, he will be down working at your lab."

"I- but- I don't-" Hojo broke off, knowing he couldn't refuse the President, but unwilling to go without protest. 

"There will be no arguments about this, Professor." Shinra's voice was dangerously low. 

"May I ask _why_?" Hojo finaly managed. Of all things, the President's _son_ as a lab assistant? 

"I have no time to watch out for the boy when he's not at lessons," Shinra said absently, fiddling with a paper weight designed to look like a miniature model of Midgar. Hojo had always hated that piece, and Shinra most assuredly knew it. "And he needs to be put to work doing something useful. I'm sure that you could contrive to keep him busy for a few hours each day. There will be no problems, will there, Professor?" 

Hojo shook his head, not trusting himself not to snap at Shinra if he spoke. 

"Good, expect him in your lab starting tomorrow afternoon. I will send someone to escort him back when he is finished." 

"Yes, Mr. President." Hojo all but spat the words. As he turned to go, Shinra's voice drifted after him, almost lazily. 

"And Hojo, don't dispose of any more of my messengers unless you want to report directly to me, understand?" 

Trembling with suppressed rage and hate, Hojo crossed the office threshold and slammed the door behind him. He knew the President despised him, and knew the feeling was returned in full. But this- this was going to far! The President had absolutely no consideration for Hojo's work in mind when he made his plans. This was all a scheme to be free from the responsibilities of raising a son and let Hojo know exactly what the he thought of him at the same time.

Snarling, he stormed into his laboratory, turning on each and every security device he had as he made his way over to his desk. 

"Do what you will, Shinra," he mumbled to himself. "But rest assured that I will find some way to make you regret every plan, every action you take against me." All he needed was time. Time and patience. He would wait, he told himself grimly, he would wait until the time was right. 

Someday, Shinra. Someday soon.


	5. 

Another day, another dollar. 

Yeah right. 

Reno rolled over slowly, shutting his eyes against the glaring light of the sun. He felt grimy, dirty, greasy and disgustingly, all around unclean. 

Big surprise.

He had spent the entire night in his suit. Again, not unusual. 

He was hung over. Nothing new.

"Damn..." Reno moaned as a stray shaft of sunlight broke through his defenses and started pounding against his head. Great. The only thing he was missing now was-

"Reno? Reno!" 

_C'est la_ bloody _vie_. 

As soon as the words stopped battering against the inside of his skull, Reno managed to crawl off of his bed and over to the door. By that time, whoever it was had started pounding on the door with their fist, adding to the growing percussion crescendo behind his temples. 

"_What?_" Reno threw open the door and glared balefully out into the hallway. "What the hell do you-" He stopped dead. 

"Good morning, Reno," T'seng said as he stepped inside the apartment. "Or should I say, 'good afternoon?'" The Turk leader raised an eyebrow as he took in the mess that was his employee. 

"G-g-good morning, s-sir," Reno stuttered foolishly, feeling every bit like the idiot he looked like. "Sorry, sir." 

"Mm." T'seng stepped over a pile of dirty clothing, narrowly missing a smashed brandy bottle on the kitchen threshold. It wasn't that the apartment was messy, as such, it was just...disorganized. 

"Sorry about my absence, sir," Reno went on, running his fingers through his unruly red hair. "Overslept, I-" He stopped suddenly, finding himself unwilling to lie to the older man.

"I see. Save your breath. We both know this won't be the last time this happens, so don't make foolish promises." 

"Yes, sir." Reno looked down at the ground, thoroughly chastened. T'seng's calm, Wutain features were impassive as they scanned his employee's face. 

"You know, I trust, of the mission you, Rude and I are to undertake a week from now?" 

"Yes, sir." Actually, he had completely forgotten until T'seng brought it up just then.

"Until that time, I don't want you going out on any other charges. You have official leave from now until next week." 

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Reno nodded briefly. He desperately wished for something, anything, that would stop the pounding in his head. 

"And until that time, Reno, I want you to stay out of all bars, taverns and inns of any sort. If I find that you have had so much as a shot of alcohol before then, your position with ShinRa and the Turks will be seriously compromised." 

"Yessir." Reno blinked, but gave no other outward sign of his astonishment. Inwardly, though...

"Good. I'll see you in a week. And Reno?"

"Yes, sir?" 

"If you ever feel the need, don't hesitate to come talk to me. I will always find the time for you or any other Turk." With that surprising remark, T'seng turned and walked out the door. 

"What the hell?" Reno stared blankly at T'seng's retreating back. He had met with the leader of the Turks only twice before, and this was certainly the -_strangest_--

"He cares about you." 

"What? Shi-" Reno leaned back against the doorframe, trying to catch his breath. "Rude, man, you tryin' to kill me or something? Make some noise next time."

"..." A pair of black sunglasses followed Reno's gaze down the hall. 

"What do you mean by that, anyway?" Reno asked. 

"What I said." Rude adjusted his sunglasses and passed his eyes over Reno's expression. How could he explain that T'seng was like a father to them? That he held together the family known most commonly as the Turks? That he was all they had?

"Right, man." Reno shrugged it off and turned to re-enter his apartment. "Um- you don't happen to know of any way I could get rid of this headache, do you?" he asked as an afterthought.

"Yes." Reno looked at him expectantly. Inwardly, Rude smiled just the tiniest bit. 

"Stay sober."


	6. 

"P-professer Hojo?" 

Hojo straightened and turned at the sound of the young and frightened voice. Just inside the doorway, a tiny figure dressed wholly in white stood looking at Hojo expectantly. 

"I-I- my father told me to-" Looking abashed, the boy shrugged and stared at the floor, leaving his sentence unfinished. His young face was smooth and unblemished, showing no signs at all of the abuse he had suffered the day before. 

"Get out," Hojo snapped at the SOLDIER who had accompanied the boy. The anonymous blue-clad figure saluted sharply and spun around to leave. As soon as the doors had closed, Hojo switched his gaze to the trembling little boy who still stood in front of the doorway.

"I'm going to let you know right now," Hojo said without any preamble, "that I resent your father for what he's done. He knows damn well that I have absolutely no time to spare to act in _loco parentis_. So don't come in here expecting me to take care of you, because I can't and I won't. Understand me?"

"Yessir," Rufus mumbled quietly. "No sir." 

"Good. Now I don't expect you to know anything about science." At Rufus' affirming nod, Hojo clenched his teeth. He had been expecting as much, but still-  
"And I haven't the time to teach you." _Thank you, Shinra,_ Hojo thought bitterly, _for sending me the most useless sentient being in this entire building_._ Remind me to repay the favor one day_.

"I assume that you know how to read and write?" Hojo asked, trusting Shinra to have taught the boy at least as much in anticipation of the day he would take over the business

"Yessir." Rufus still hadn't looked up. Hojo grunted slightly in satisfaction.

"Fine. You can catalogue those shelves over there for me," Hojo said, waving his hand off in the direction of an old and dusty corner of the room. "Just take a rag and a pad of paper and as you list each item dust it off as best you can. You can handle that by yourself, I trust?" 

The boy lifted his head as a brief flash of resentment passed over his eyes and nodded. 

"Don't glare at me, boy," Hojo said negligently, turning back to his lab table. "Things like that don't affect me anymore. I can't afford to be bothered. When your done with that, leave the list over on the table to my left and I'll find something else for you to do. Until then, don't bother me." 

"Yessir." Sullenly, Rufus found a couple scraps of old fabric and some writing materials and went off in the direction of the shelves. As soon as he heard the boy setting to work, Hojo put him out of his mind as he returned to his business. 

***

Carefully. Steadily. Slowly. 

Hojo narrowed his eyes as he tipped a beaker filled with a light blue solution into another of crystalline clarity. Just a drop, just a single drop-

"Professor Hojo?"

"Dammit, boy!" Hojo cursed as he held a cloth to his smarting hand. The blue fluid was already smoking as it ate through a glass micro plate. Hojo cursed again as blood seeped through the towel. 

"I-I'm sorry, sir," Rufus stammered, dropping his eyes to the floor. "I-"

"Never mind, never mind!" Hojo shouted at him. "Just clean up this mess while I do something about my hand." Fuming, Hojo stormed off in the direction of the large sink he used for cleaning his lab equipment. 

Cursing again as he rinsed his hand under a stream of cold water, Hojo tried to rein in his temper before he did something drastic and killed the boy. He had a feeling that it would give Shinra too much satisfaction. 

Once the bleeding stopped, Hojo saw that the injury was minor. Probably just sliced his hand with a piece of glass from the broken test tube. Slowly, he bandaged his hand up, giving his temper a chance to cool before he returned to the mess at his lab table. 

"I'm sorry, Hojo, sir." Rufus said again, sweeping the fragments from the shattered test tube into the disposal unit. "I didn't mean to-"

"Yes, yes, I know." Hojo reached out impatiently to move the boy out of the way and accidentally brushed his hand against the boy's back.

Immediately, Rufus hissed in pain and jerked away. Hojo saw tears of discomfort in his young eyes before he blinked them away.

"What's wrong with you, boy?" Hojo demanded. 

"Nothing." Rufus' voice was surly and abrupt. 

"Don't lie to me, boy. What's wrong with you?" This time, Hojo grabbed the boy's arm and spun him around to face him as he moved to turn away.

Rufus just looked at him, his blue eyes opaque. 

"Listen," Hojo growled. "You're taking up enough of my time as it is, so don't lie to me. If you're injured in any way, it could interfere with your work and mine, so I want to know about it now."

Rufus glared at him silently for a moment more, then dropped his gaze. "My back."

Wordlessly, Hojo spun the boy around and lifted the back of his shirt. He raised an eyebrow at what he saw. 

The boy's entire back was striped with raw, red marks, and his shoulders were covered with ugly blue and black bruises. In front of him, Hojo could hear the boy sniff back his tears as his battered shoulders shook with repressed sobs. 

"Stay here," Hojo told the boy as he let the shirt drop. Rufus nodded with what seemed to Hojo as bitter relief and covered his face with his hands. 

Without wasting a movement, Hojo went back to the sink and retrieved a towel and a bottle from under the table. Pouring the contents of the bottle liberally over the towel, he returned to the boy and began dressing his injured back. 

"Your father did this to you?" Hojo asked as he finished with the boy and brushed his hands off on his lab coat. Rufus nodded reluctantly as he cautiously worked his shoulders. 

"What is that?" he asked softly, looking at the bottle Hojo still held in his hands. 

"Oil from a Shred, a monster found only on the Great Glacier," Hojo said, placing the bottle and the towel back under the sink. "Numbs pain and prevents infection from setting in an open wound." 

"Oh." Rufus lapsed back into silence. Hojo glanced at him and hesitated.

"Here," he said finaly, handing him the bottle. "I can't have you working down here if your going to be constantly distracted by pain." Rufus blinked, then took the bottle. 

"Professor Hojo?" 

Both Hojo and the boy spun around. A man stood at the entrance of the laboratory, leaning against the doorframe. He seemed oddly familiar to them both.

"I'm here for the kid," the man continued before Hojo could speak. "Shinra caught me as I was walkin' by and sent me down to get him." He adjusted the sunglasses perched on the top of his head, brushed back a stray piece of red hair and waited.

"Fine," Hojo told him. "Take him and get out. I've got work to do." 

"Gotcha." The man motioned for Rufus to follow him and strode out the door. 

Out in the hallway, Reno slowed his pace enough for Rufus to catch up with him. 

"Yer father wants me to bring ya up to yer room and make sure yer set," he told the boy. Silently, Rufus nodded. Reno could feel the hate and resentment coming off of him in waves. 

T'seng had told him that he was on official leave, but Reno guessed that Shinra could not have cared less. To him, the Turks were just another section of employees for ShinRa to use to at it's abandon. So instead of arguing with the President when he had been stopped and sent on an errand, Reno decided it would be easier just to do what the President asked and continue on his way. 

"Hey, kid." Rufus started visibly when Reno spoke but recovered quickly, to his credit. 

"I've only been here fer a couple a months, so yer gonna hafta lemme know where yer room is," Reno told him. Rufus shrugged and nodded, continuing on in stony silence. That suited Reno just fine. He still had things on his mind that he wanted to sort out as soon as possible. Like what T'seng had said. Like what Rude had said.

"Here." 

"Eh?" This time it was Reno who started at the sound of the boy's voice. 

"This is my room." Rufus had stopped and was waiting for Reno to return to the present. 

"Right. 'K, kid, I'll be seein' ya." Reno turned and started walking back down the hallway. 

As soon as he turned the corner and was out of sight, Reno collapsed against the wall, his face contorted in pain. 

He had seen the marks on the boy's back, he had seen the bruises on his shoulders. He had seen and had been so affected that he hadn't been able to speak until several moments after Hojo had gotten the boy fixed up. Not out of sympathy or disbelief, for he himself had suffered tenfold worse out on the streets, but because of the memories the sight had brought back. Memories that he had thought were dead and buried. 

He was wrong. 

"Damn," he breathed, covering his eyes with his hand. "Damn them all." 

Memories of himself as a boy, tending to his sisters cuts and bruises the same way Hojo had treated Rufus' came flooding into his mind. Then later, as _he_ knelt on the ground, waiting for one of the older kids in his gang to fix up the knife wounds in his back after a run in with a rival gang. 

Odd, that he, some stupid street punk taken from the slums, should share something in common with the son of the richest man in Midgar. How ironic. 

But they shared more than just physical pain. Much more. The pain of the heart, of the soul, of the mind. Pain that burned more deeply than pain of the body ever could. It filled their veins, mixing with their red, red blood. 

_You have everything you could ever want, Rufus Shinra, _Reno thought to himself, _except for what you need the most_._ I had nothing, but I didn't care because I had never known anything else_. _What does this say about us, young Shinra?_

_What does it say?_


	7. 

"Come in." 

T'seng didn't even look up as the door to his office opened. Unlike President Shinra's, his workplace had a more comfortable, more relaxed atmosphere. Instead of a huge panoramic window view, the walls were colored in a tasteful gray, and the entire room was furnished in matching black leather. On the whole, T'seng never spent much of his money on luxuries for himself, with one exception. His desk. Carved from a single piece of solid mahogany, it was trimmed with black lacquer and silvery adamantium, giving it a distinguished look, while remaining both comfortable and serviceable. 

There were times that T'seng felt a twinge of guilt over the desk, but the Ancients knew he deserved _something _in return for the work and effort he put into his job. His co-workers were constantly telling him to relax, to take a break and go somewhere. They told him he needed a vacation. 

But, with his signature stubbornness, T'seng put aside all thoughts of a rest and instead threw himself into his work. Maybe someday, when he finaly retired and would put ShinRa behind him forever-

"Sir?" 

A familiar voice cut through his musings. T'seng looked up and nodded at his newest, and youngest, employee. 

"Have a seat, Reno," he said, motioning to a pair of black leather chairs in front of the desk. 

"Thank you, sir." Reno sat down and looked about him. T'seng could tell that he was terribly uncomfortable, but was unable to pinpoint exactly why. 

"What can I do for you?" the leader of the Turks asked conversationally. 

"Well, sir, when you came to see me the other day- you- ah-" Reno cursed silently. This wasn't working at all the way he wanted it to. He was struggling to put his thoughts in order when T'seng, with impeccable timing, saved him from making a bloody fool of himself.

"It's been three months now, hasn't it, Reno?" he asked, suddenly understanding what the younger man had come for.

"Sir?" 

"Three months since you came here."

"Yes, sir. Just about three months." 

"Reno, in those three months I have learned to read you remarkably well, considering the circumstances. And, I have found that I can almost invariably tell when something is troubling you, like it is now." 

Reno sat back in his chair and rested his forehead against his fingertips. He let a long moment of silence pass, then spoke. 

"How well do you know me, sir?" he asked, lifting his head and looking T'seng directly in the eye. 

The leader of the Turks ran a slim hand through his black hair and thought. 

"How well do I know you, Reno?" he repeated. "I know that you were born in the slums of Sector Three. I know that you were thrown out into the streets when you were eleven years old. I know that you had a younger sister who you took care of for five years. I know you were part of a gang called the Scavengers. I know that your sister was murdered by a gang from a different Sector." 

"In other words," Reno cut in, "you don't know much." T'seng said nothing, inviting him to speak.

"What you don't know," Reno said harshly, "is that my mother died two years after she gave birth to my sister, and we went to live with her brother and his wife. What you don't know is that every night my uncle came home drunk and beat the hell out of anything in his way. Including me. What you don't know is that I _let_ him beat me senseless every night so that he wouldn't hurt my sister. What you don't know is that the night after he threw us out, he killed his wife and two kids then OD'd on drugs. 

"What you don't know is how we struggled on the streets for two years, doing everything we could to survive. What you don't know is how I had to stand in the shadows and watch my sister steal from passers-by like I taught her to. What you don't know is how much it hurt to know that I had ruined any chance she might have had to grow up right and good because I never gave her anything but lies. What you don't know is how I did things that are positively _unspeakable_ so that she could eat more than twice a week. 

"You don't know that the Scavengers got their name because they were one of the lowest gangs in the hierarchy of the slums. You don't know that I was the one who became their brains and made them stronger. You don't know that when I was sixteen, I was kidnapped in the middle of the night by a rival gang and tortured in an alleyway in front of my sister. You don't know that I was left for dead on the streets after they beat me and killed her. 

"There are things about me that no one knows. There are things about me that if you knew, you would be sick to your stomach. There are things about me that still wrench me awake screaming at night. There are things that I wish I had never seen, never known, never lived. But I have. And nothing can change that.

"Rude had said something to me yesterday, when you came to my apartment. He told me that you cared about me. I didn't understand what he meant, at first, because it had been so long since anyone had given a damn about me. I don't know why I decided to come here today, to tell you about me, things no one else had ever known. I just- I knew that you wouldn't laugh at me."

T'seng closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, Reno was staring back at the ground.

"I shouldn't have wasted your time," the young Turk said and started to rise. "I'm sorry, sir. I should go." 

"Wait." 

Reno halted in mid-stride and turned, surprised. "Sir?" 

"Reno, I told you yesterday, that I would always have the time for another Turk. Did you think that I was lying?" 

Reno's silence was his answer.

T'seng sighed. When he spoke, his voice was soft and filled with a kind of distracted pain. "I don't lie, Reno. At least, not to another Turk. You will find that it's the same with Rude. _Turks do not lie to each other_. Understand me, Reno? We have no other loyalties but to our own, and those ties are stronger than anything you have ever known. I know for certain that Rude would take a bullet for me, if the need should ever present itself. 

"We may work for ShinRa on occasion, but in reality, we are an independent faction, and no one on the outside can ever have our complete allegiance. But inside, it is vitally important that we understand how strong our ties are and to what extent they reach. And let me tell you right now, Reno, that my ties to you and Rude and any other Turk _cannot_ be broken. If I was faced with the choice of either killing you or getting killed myself, I'd choose the latter and take out as many of the other bastards as I could. _Do you understand me?_"

Reno stood there dumbly, at a complete loss for words. He nodded once. 

"I can't take away what happened to you, Reno, I can't just erase the past no matter how much I want to. But I can tell you this: give us your loyalty, and I can make sure that none of us will let anyone hurt you again if we can prevent it, so long as you are a Turk." 

"Yes, sir." Reno's voice was a dry whisper. "Thank you, sir." T'seng nodded, and the young Turk took his leave.

As soon as Reno left and the door had shut, T'seng leaned back in his chair and raised a single elegant hand to his temple. It never got any easier. Time and time again, he sat there and listened as someone, someone lost and afraid, poured out the contents of his soul to him. Men and women both came to him, knowing that he would listen, that he wouldn't laugh at them. That he would care.

And he did. He cared. He acted as the father to the family that was the Turks. He acted like he remembered his own father acting when he or one of his siblings needed guidance. But that was before everything had been taken from him, before his world had been devoured by the flames. 

He still felt them, sometimes, circling him, separating him from his family like an iniquitous wall of hell. He still felt the heat as their red hot tongues licked at him from the walls, from the floor, from all around him. 

He remembered how, when the smoke had finaly cleared from his eyes, he found himself alone on the streets. He remembered the hunger, the cold, the fear, but most of all, he remembered wondering why.

Why had he survived? Why hadn't he joined the rest of his family, consumed by the fire, but not alone? Why did the Fates decide that _he_ should be the one to live?

He never found the answers to his questions, no matter how many times he asked. Finaly, he stopped asking altogether. He was alive, and that's all he needed to know. One day, perhaps, one day soon, the Fates would make it clear to him why he had been spared. Until then, T'seng lived his life day in and day out, never complaining, but always wondering. 

And until then, T'seng would made sure that none of his employees or fellow Turks would ever have to wonder why no one cared. Because _he_ cared. And he let them know, too. He swore to himself that no Turk would ever feel as lost and as helpless as he had, alone in the streets, so long as he had the power to make it so. 

"And maybe one day," he said to no one in particular, "you'll let me know why I survived." 


	8. 

"Well, boy?" Shinra leaned back in his chair as he watched his son step into his office.

"Sir?" Rufus cocked his head to the side, but kept his eyes carefully glued to the floor.

"How did things go with Hojo? You didn't make a nuisance of yourself again, I trust?" Shinra's tone made it clear what he expected _that_ answer to be. 

"Good, sir. No, sir." Rufus said nothing more as he stood resentfully across from his father. 

"Hmm. I'll get a complete report from Hojo in the morning," Shinra said, turning his attention back to the papers on his desk. "Be sure you're not late for lessons in the morning. That will be all." 

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Rufus turned smartly on his heel and walked out of the office. Out in the hallway, however, he lost his veneer of calm and gave free, if quiet, vent to his emotions. 

"Why don't you just say it, Father," he hissed to the walls. "Just say that you don't love me. That you hate me. That the only reason you don't have me killed is because it would make your polls go down. _Why_, Father?" he cried in muted anguish. "What did I _do?_" Tears of pure frustration poured down his cheeks, creating dark spots in his white jacket. "Why are you constantly second-guessing me, checking me behind my back? Why can't you just accept for one minute that what I say might be the truth? _Why?_"

"Ain't no point in askin' why, kid. I'm 'bout twice your age, and I'm still askin'. Betcha yer father's wonderin' the same thing, but fer different reasons." 

"Who-?" Rufus spun around, nearly crashing into the man leaning against the wall behind him. 

"Don't really matter much, who I am," the man said, lighting a cigarette. "Want one?" he asked, holding the carton out. Rufus shook his head.

"I'm not allowed to smoke." 

"Huh. Shoulda guessed." The man tucked the box back in his jacket pocket. "Looks like we just keep runnin' into each other, don't it?" 

"Yes, sir," Rufus replied, trying to think where he had seen this man before. He looked familiar, but he just couldn't place it. 

"Only the first time ya were in this hall, ya were a bleedin' wreck, if I recall." 

That was it. Rufus ducked his head in shame as the memories came rushing back.

Reno watched the boy with mild interest. Here was a child who hadn't learned the advantage of hiding his emotions. And yet, it gave him an almost endearing quality, like that of an innocent who hadn't yet learned life's most basic teachings. He snorted with bitter mirth. That would be changed all too soon.

"You're, lessee, ah," Reno's brow furrowed as he searched for the name. "Rufus, right?" 

"Yessir." Rufus looked up at him, wiping away the tracks his tears had left. "Who are you?" 

"That don't matter," Reno said idly. 

"But, that doesn't seem fair, if you know who I am," Rufus protested.

"Life ain't fair, kid. 'S'one of the first things ya gotta learn." Reno narrowed his eyes as he remembered another life, only months ago, when he had learned that same lesson. "Ya try livin' all fair and I'm tellin' ya, yer gonna get crushed. Life don't wait fer no one to figger out what's fair. It just keeps movin', and if yer in it's way, it'll move right on over ya." 

"Yessir." 

"None of this 'sir' crap, all right?" Reno snapped. "If ye gotta call me something, call me Reno. There's some people who'd tell ya to call me otherwise, but ya ain't supposed to know words like that. Got it?"

"Yessi- yes, Reno." 

"Good. Now, yer what, nine? ten?" 

"Nine." 

"Well, what d'ya know. Yer only, lessee, eight years younger than I am." Reno raised an eyebrow. Was he ever young like that? Innocent? No. The streets had stolen that from him. He had been forced into an age older than his tender years early on. There hadn't been anything but pain in his childhood. Not that it mattered anymore. None of it mattered now.

"You're only seventeen, sir?" Rufus asked hesitantly. 

"Yep. Don't seem it, I know. 'S'cuz I was raised by the streets, and she don't show no mercy fer anyone who don't grow up fast." He flicked his cigarette, watching the ashes fall gently down onto the light gray carpet. "You got any friends, kid?"

Rufus shook his head, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Huh. Well, neither did I. Growing up in the slums, ya didn't have friends. Ya had yer fellow gang members, and ya had yer rivals. Anyone else, well, they didn't matter, cuz they weren't out ta kill ya." Suddenly, Reno realized what he had been saying. He brought himself sharply back to the present, throwing out a quick glance at the President's son. "See ya 'round, kid." Without waiting to hear Rufus' protests, or explain his abrupt exit, Reno turned and walked down the corridor, out of sight. Rufus stood for a moment longer, then shrugged and returned to his room. 

Throwing himself over the bed, he reached underneath and fished around until he found what he was looking for. Carefully, he drew out a large package wrapped in brown paper. He had paid one of his father's SOLDIERs to get it for him when he went into Wall Market, some strange eyed, spiky haired guy. 

Pausing only to check that his door was locked, Rufus set to unwrapping the package with care. The lock would not keep his father out, but it would let the servants and SOLDIERs know he was not to be bothered. 

Inside the paper was a large canvas stretched over a wooden frame and a set of oil paints. Another parcel contained several fine brushes of assorted thickness. Making sure to remove his jacket first, Rufus opened the paint containers and set them out on his desk. He set the blank canvas out, staring at it thoughtfully, then set to work. His blue eyes narrowed with concentration as he strove to recall details. White shirt- so. Navy jacket, unbuttoned- so. Left hand- so, right hand- thus, with the cigarette hanging- so. 

Now for the harder part. Green eyes, filled with light. Thin face, attractive, narrow features, skin- so. He took a deep breath, then took the red paint in hand and mixed it with just the slightest amount of black. He thought back to the way a lock of unruly red hair fell into his eyes, the careless ponytail that held it back. The shades that perched cockily on his head. 

Finaly, after hours of work and refinement, Rufus sat back in his chair to view the end result. Standing there on the canvas, from the waist up, Reno was caught with a cigarette half way to his lips. His green eyes, open and looking at nothing, showed only the barest hint of the pain Rufus had seen there. His left hand rested lightly on the strange rod he had seen him carrying, presumably his personal weapon. On his left side, there was a slight bulge in his jacket; Rufus wasn't sure, but he thought it safe to assume it was a gun. 

He stared at the picture a moment longer, then set it on his desk. With deliberate care, he washed off the brushes, closed the paints and rewrapped the entire parcel in it's brown paper before sliding it back under his bed. His father knew nothing about his painting, but Rufus held no doubts as to what he would do if he found out that his son was "wasting his time" with such things. Shinra's appreciation for the arts amounted to nil; he considered it them a waste of time and money, two of his most valued assets. Unfortunately, Rufus had shown great promise early on and as he grew, so did his desire to better his skills. So as a result, he had to turn to bribing SOLDIERs and servants to sneak materials to him, and every moment he spent with his brushes and paper was one he spent looking anxiously over his shoulder.

He sighed, putting his jacket back on. In ten minutes, it would be time for supper, another hour seated across hate personified. He checked to make sure there were no paint stains on his white clothes to give away his secret, then opened the door into the hall. 

White was a terribly impractical color, he reflected as he walked down the hall towards the dining room. But he refused to wear red, as was to his father's tastes. He found that he detested the color, and so opted for white; he knew his choice irked his father to no end. As a result, his own tiny mark of defiance, he wore nothing but, save black belt and shoes. 

_You kept me in a cage, father,_ he thought bitterly as he walked. _The walls you put up were made of brick and stone_._ You changed me, father, turned me into something I shouldn't be_._ And so I chip away at the walls you built around me, I take advantage of every chink, every crack between the stones_._ One day, father, I promise you, I will find a way out_._ I promise you_.


	9. 

Mission day.

For Reno, the week had crawled by. Usually, with official leave he would have been off haunting Midgar's bars and taverns, half the time not even bothering to return to his apartment between times.

This time, however, T'seng had forbidden him to even set foot in a bar, and even Reno knew better than to go against the orders of the Turk leader. But it was _-hard_.- Not a day passed the entire week that he didn't crave a drink; he would often lay awake at nights, staring up at the ceiling, yearning for the comforting oblivion of alcohol. 

Now he stood before his boss, cigarette hanging nervously from his lips. Beside him stood Rude. Over the course of the week, in an attempt to turn his mind to anything but liquor, Reno had taken the time to try and get to know his co-worker better. He would have been more successful talking to a rock.

It wasn't that he didn't try. The need for a drink had put the younger Turk on edge, he couldn't sit still, and when he wasn't moving, he was talking. Looking back, he realized that the tall man had probably said one word to each of his twenty. Later, much later, he would learn that Rude was always like that, but at that time it had really set his teeth on edge.

"Gentlemen." T'seng stood behind his desk, alternating his gaze between his two employees. Rude stood stoically, unmoving and passive, his face blank. Briefly, T'seng wondered what color the silent Turk's eyes were underneath his sunglasses. Reno fidgeted, toying with his cigarette, then with the rod he used as his personal weapon. T'seng was willing to put his restlessness down to his extended period of sobriety rather than nervousness.

"Today, we have been asked by ShinRa Inc. to locate one Devyn Kayli. He is currently wanted for crimes against the corporation that are not to be named at this time. Reports say that he is at this time hiding somewhere in Sector 2 down beneath the Plate. Any questions?"

"...Condition?" Rude asked.

"He must be brought back alive, without serious injuries. And yes, Rude, before you ask, a bullet in the arm, either arm, is a serious injury." T'seng watched as Rude's face shifted for a split second, the faintest ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"Do we have any connections down in the Sectors?" Reno asked, suddenly feeling put out by his boss and co-worker. He had sensed something pass between them, but couldn't figure out what it was.

"Only your own," T'seng told him. "There is no one down there who will be willing to assist ShinRa, and any resources you may need will have to be acquired yourself." T'seng pulled his jacket over his shoulder holster and adjusted his tie. "Now, let's go."

An hour later, Reno stood alone in the midst of a crowded street, somewhere in the junction between Sectors 2 and 3. He breathed in the thick, humid air as the memories came flooding back to him.

He was home.

_Not now,_ he admonished himself. Now he had to concentrate on finding this Kayli guy, hiding somewhere in the maze of streets and alleyways that made up the Sector slums.

Okay, first things first: ShinRa might not have connections down beneath the plate, but this was Reno's turf. He stood for a moment longer, getting himself situated with his surroundings, then turned and headed down a long alleyway.

Halting at a rusty, nondescript metal door, Reno glanced around, then knocked.

"Yeah?"

"S'Reno."

Slowly, groaning torturously, the door opened. Reno stepped inside and was greeted by an array of sights and smells that had, for the past few months, lurked in the back of his mind as only memories. Now, they hit him full force.

"Hey, guys, it's Reno!" A short, stocky man stood at the foot of a rotting ladder and yelled to a group playing cards on the second floor.

"Whass'at, Poal?" one of them called back.

"Reno, he's back!" Poal shouted again, louder this time.

"Forget it, Poal, I'll jes' get myself up there t' them." Lithely, Reno swung himself onto the ladder and climbed up. The minute he came into view, four of the people sitting around the table jumped to their feet.

"Look who's 'ere!" one of them said, running over to him. The other three followed, leaving their gil forgotten on the table.

"Whoa, Shane, cool it, man," the one girl in the group piped up. "We can see who it is, but Reno here might not be wantin' others to know, understand me?"

"She's right, man." A man with a goatee and hair brighter than Reno's held out his hand. The corners of his mouth rising, Reno clasped the other's wrist. "Good t' see ya again, Reno."

"You too, Clarke. Shane, Rina, Basvin." He nodded at the others. "'S been awhile, 'asn't it, guys?"

"Almost a year," Rina agreed. She ran a hand through her short, slicked back hair. "Whatcha doin' back? Thought ya had gone up and made Turk."

"Who says I didn't?" Reno grinned and looked down at his crumpled suit. "I'm on assignment. Might need a bit a help."

"Anythin' we can do fer ya, man," Clarke told him. "Don't care if ya are workin' fer that damn ShinRa. Yer still a Scavenger, ain'tcha?"

"Always." Reno reached into his shirt and brought out a chain. On it was strung a tarnished silver ring marked with an "S" and another with a "D". "I still got 'em."

Each gang in the slums had a ring, and each gang member wore one with the first letter of their name on it. It didn't matter how many people you had, or how tough you were, without a ring, you weren't a gang.

In order to become part of an existing gang, it was required that you steal the ring from a higher gang member. It made no difference which one, so long as it was higher up on the social ladder than yours. In the highest gang, in Reno's time it had been a group known as the Blades, you had to kill a present member to be initiated. Reno himself had taken out a member of the Diamondbacks. Only later did he realize that he had inadvertently killed their leader.

"Still got these, too," Rina said softly, tracing the scars that ran under each of his eyes. The leader of the Scavengers had come back one night, drunk and angry. He took his rage out on Reno, his switchblade flicking out twice.

"Yeah, they ain't goin' nowhere." Reno gently took her hand away. He tucked the rings back under his shirt and straightened. "Any o' ya heard about some guy named Devyn Kayli?"

"Kayli?" Shane's face scrunched up in thought. "Sounds familiar-"

"It should." Basvin, who had up until then been silent, spoke up. "He's been all over the news. Seems he's got some dirt on our Prez Shinra, when he confronted him with it, Shinra took it badly. They say Kayli killed a couple a SOLDIERs on 'is way out... Shinra didn't take it very well."

"Well, that s'plains it, then," Reno said, jumping up to perch precariously on the creaking banister. "M'boss said he was 'wanted for crimes against the corporation that are not to be named.'" He snorted in acid amusement. "Shinra's coverin' 'is ass."

"So whatcha need?" Shane persisted. "Anythin' we can do fer ya?"

"Yeah." Reno took the cigarette Rina offered and held it out to be lit. "Only info I got is that he's someweres around Sect 2." He took a drag on the light and blew a thin stream of smoke above Shane's head. "And ya know the Sects ain't exactly the smallest places. Lotsa way he could go, and lotsa people willin' to hide 'im. Me bein' jes' one man n' all-"

"Gotcha." Clarke took the cigarette from Reno's hand and drew deeply. "We'll help ya out th' best we can," he said, handing it back. "Ain't that right, guys?"

"Sure thing, Reno." Shane punched the Turk lightly on the shoulder. "Jes' tell us where t' start."

"Thanks, guys," Reno said, grinning. "Yer all I gots left down 'ere." Extinguishing his cigarette on the banister, he jumped down onto the floor and slid down the ladder. In a matter of minutes, they all stood at the entrance to Sector 2.

"Reno."

Startled, Reno spun around, the others doing likewise. Out of the corner of his eye, he was grimly pleased to note that they all, to a man, had a hand on a weapon. 

"Jesus, man, give a little warning next time." Reno switched his mag-rod to his left hand and waved placatingly to the others. 

"Where have you been?" T'seng asked as he removed his own hand from inside his jacket. Reno thought briefly about the stainless steel .359 magnum that lay nestled inside.

"Sector 3," he told him. "Getting some of my boys together. And girls," he added, as Rina coughed conspicuously.

T'seng's eyes flicked to each face, his Wutain features perfectly neutral. Finaly, he nodded. "Fine. I want you back here at 05:00. Understand?" Reno nodded. "That gives you another three hours. If you see Rude, tell him." Again, Reno nodded.

"Good." Without another word, T'seng turned and walked away.

"God, who the hell was _that_?" Shane asked as T'seng disappeared around a corner.

"That was T'seng, my boss," Reno told them. "Leader of the Turks."

"Huh. Didn't look like much." Shane lit up a cigarette. "Betcha any one of us 'ere coulda taken 'im."

"Yo, _SHANE,_" Basvin called out. "You been listenin' to what our man 'ere's been tellin' ya? That man is a _TURK_. What's more, he's their leader. I'll betcha anythin' he knows more ways t' kill ya than you've had days t' live. The Turks are th' best, man. N' he's the best of the best. Got me?"

"Bas's right, man." Reno spun his mag-rod around in his fingers, careful not to depress the button that would charge the slim metal baton. "I've seen that guy in action, n' believe me, I wouldn't want to be on 'is bad side fer nothin'. Better'n me, n' I could probably take any one a ya." He dropped the end of his rod to the ground. "N' I ain't just shootin' my mouth off, either. S'why I'm a Turk."

"Ah, Reno, I don't know what yer talkin' about," Rina said, draping an arm around his shoulders. "Yer still just a Scavenger, n' t'me, that's all that matters."

"Hey, this is all well n' good, but ain't we suppose t' be lookin' fer someone?" Clarke spoke up. "We only got a couple a hours, n' the Sector 2 slums ain't small."

"Yer right, Clarke." Reno disentangled himself from Rina and sauntered over to the entrance. "Le's go."

***

An hour later, Reno stood in front of a huge locked door. "Sure this is it?" he asked dubiously, toying with a cigarette. "Looks kinda...cold."

"Sure I'm sure, man." Bas picked up a nearby rock and started pounding on the door. Reno was just about to suggest blowing the lock off instead, when the solid metal slab creaked open a scant half-inch.

"What d'ya want?" A man in his late twenties peered at them through the crack in the door.

"Scavengers, Dale, don't let 'em in," a second voice called from inside.

The door started to close, but stopped as it struck metal.

Reno angled his mag-rod so that it was up against the man's throat. "I think I can hit this here button before you can shut this door," he said, conversationally. His thumb loomed dangerously over the black handle. The man swallowed, then looked at the rest of the group.

"Better do what 'e says," Clarke commented, his eyes studiously glued to the edge of his knife. He carefully tested the edge against his thumb, then put it back, satisfied. "He ain't in th' best o' moods right now."

Eyeing the metal tip of the rod, Dale slowly backed away as the door opened wider.

"Thought you jes' might come t' yer senses," Basvin said, stepping inside. Clarke followed him, then Rina, Shane, and finaly, Reno himself.

"What?" A man seated over by a broken television set jumped to his feet, switchblade flashing in his hand. "Goddammit, yer a fucking Turkey-!"

Before the man could move, or even say another word, Bas stepped over and, without a word, planted his knife in the man's belly.

"First," he said evenly as the light in the man's eyes began to fade. "First, you offend us, the Scavengers. Second, you insult our dear friend here. Let me tell you something, sir." His eyes glinted as he twisted the knife cruelly. "We don't take well to insults, and Reno here is a _very_ good friend of ours." He dropped the man's now lifeless body to the ground and wiped his blade off on a nearby rag. He reached down and pulled the ring off the dead man's finger and spat. "Damn Fangs," he said, tossing the ring to one side. "Don't know when to keep their mouths shut."

"Bas, you n' me are gonna hafta have a little talk, one o' these days," Clarke said, looking rather distastefully at the body. Somehow, however, he didn't seem too unpleased about the whole thing.

"Ahem."

They all spun around to where Rina stood patiently, tapping her foot against the worn floorboards.

"Jes' outta curiosity, Reno," she said, blowing smoke in their direction. "What is it exactly that we're lookin' for?"

"Not sure, babe," he told her, trusting Shane and Clarke to keep an eye on Dale. "Got somethin'?"

"Maybe. Dunno fer sure." She reached down and pulled away part of the worn, soiled carpet. "Maybe ya wanna take a look?"

"Yo, Bas, c'mere fer a sec."

"'Sup?" Bas walked over, pulling his blond hair back in a ponytail.

"I think Rina jes' mighta found our answer," Reno crowed. Underneath the rug was a small trap door. When opened, it dropped into a small room, big enough to fit up to eight full-grown people, or, as it was, only one.

"Kayli?" Clarke called over.

"The man hisself." Roughly, Reno reached down and hauled the man out into the light. "Devyn Kayli, you are under arrest for crimes against ShinRa Inc. I'd read ya yer rights," he added, "but according to ShinRa, ya don't got any."

"Fuck you, man." Devyn swatted Reno's hand away and spat in his face.

"Hey, now." Shane reached over and grabbed the man by the hair. "Le's have none of that. See him?" he asked, turning so that Kayli had a clear view of the dead Fang's body. "We ain't very appreciative when people insult our friends, n' Reno 'ere jes' happens t' be one of our closest. Got me?"

The man nodded, the hate in his eyes burning into Reno's. The Turk just smiled thinly at him, then punched him in the jaw.

"We're late," he said, straightening his suit as Kayli crumpled to the floor, out cold. "Le's get a move on."

***

"You're late." T'seng didn't even bother to turn around as heard his employee approach.

"Sorry, sir," Reno said. "But I felt the gain outweighed the loss, in this case."

"Oh?" T'seng turned around. He raised an eyebrow as he took in Kayli's unconscious form. "I see." He nodded to Rude, who stepped foreword to lift Kayli's body into the waiting helicopter. "Five minutes, then we leave." So saying, he turned and ducked into the chopper himself.

"Hey, thanks guys," Reno said, turning to his friends. "I owe ya one."

"Not a problem." Rina wrapped her arms around his neck in a quick embrace, then stepped back. "Guess yer headed back up, then, huh?"

"Yeah, I still got my job up there." His smile was acrid. "Gettin' paid fer what I do best."

"Don't ever ferget us, hey?" Shane clasped Reno's hand in his own. "We'll still be 'ere when that damn Plate thing comes down."

"Yeah, man. We ain't goin' nowhere." Clarke clapped him on the shoulder and grinned, somewhat sadly. "If ya ever come back down, ye'll always have a place with us. Before ya were a Turk, ya were a Scavenger. Ya always keep that in mind."

"Hey, ah- Reno, can I talk to ya fer a sec?" Bas asked him nervously.

"Yeah, sure. Hang on a sec, guys." Puzzled, Reno walked over to the heap of scrap metal where Bas waited.

"Ah- Reno, I jes' wanted t' tell ya somethin' before ya left." Bas shifted from foot to foot, something was obviously agitating him.

"What is it, man?" Reno watched his friend with growing perplexity.

"Ah- well," Bas fixed his eyes on a broken cabinet. "Ya never asked me how I knew where Kayli was," he said finaly.

"It never occurred t' me," Reno said. He felt something twist in the middle of his stomach. "But now that ya mention it- how _did_ ya know?"

"Christ, Reno. I was the one that gave Kayli the information."

"What?" Reno stared at Bas, bewildered. "You did- what-?"

"I had some dirt on Shinra, and I sold it to Kayli. Then ya came down n' I found out ya was lookin' fer 'im." Bas's words grew harder to understand as he grew more and more nervous. "I jes' felt so guilty, I had t' do somethin'. So I figgered I'd help ya out a bit, take ya t' where Devyn was n' help ya bring 'im in. Thought ya might fergive me, or somethin'."

"Jesus." Reno raked his hand through his tangled red hair as he thought. "Shit, man, I fergive ya. Guess I can't really hold it against ya, seein' as I don't exactly love our Prez myself. But, jes' one question."

"Yeah?"  
"Why? Why'd ya bother t' sell it? Whatcha needin' money fer so badly?"

"Ah-" Bas grinned sheepishly and stared at the chewed ground. "Well, see-" He paused. "I got me a daughter, now," he finaly blurted out.

"Oh, ho!" Reno exclaimed, raising an eyebrow. "A daughter? Way t' go, man! How'd that happen?"

"Ya remember Laina?"

"Yeah." Laina was a energetic little blond girl, talkative and not at all unattractive. Sharp as a tack, too. "Ya takin' it farther?"

"Ahh- I dunno." Basvin shoved his hands in his pockets. "I guess my main fear is that I won't be able to support them both. She's outta a job, n' with Lisa-"

"Gotcha." Reno reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. "Bas, man, before anything else, I'm a Scavenger, n' we look out fer our own." He handed the envelope to Bas, pressing it into his hand. "60,000 gil in there," he said. "One weeks pay." He turned aside Bas's protests with a wave of his hand. "I don't need the money fer nothin', I got enough on me t' survive 'til next week." He grinned roguishly. "Now you go and marry Laina, and give your daughter something good," he ordered. "I'll be seein' ya, man." Reno turned and walked towards the helicopter. Just before he got in, Bas' stopped him.

"Reno!" he shouted over the roar of the blades. "Thank you!"

Reno nodded to him, then ducked inside. He found himself unaccountably content.

"That was good work you did today," T'seng told him as they rose above the slums.

"Thank you, sir."

"You're more than capable," he continued, cleaning his gun. "I think you proved that today."

"I'm a Turk." He said nothing more. He didn't have to.

T'seng looked at him. He nodded once, shortly, and went back to cleaning his gun.

Silently, Reno stared out the window, watching the slums, his home, his past, his family, grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared beneath a layer of Mako produced haze.

"I am a Turk," he said again, so softly that no one heard.

"I am a Turk."


	10. 

_The child_

The thought slipped into Hojo's mind as he stared into a tank of red fluid. Somewhere inside, he caught the slightest glimpse of movement. He sighed to himself in satisfaction as he straightened and dusted his hands off on his lab coat. Rufus stood watching him in the doorway.

"Come here, boy." Hojo motioned to the President's son and gestured to the tank. Peering inside, Rufus gasped.

"Wha- what is it?" he asked, stepping back.

"Life," Hojo told him, eyes gleaming. "That's life, pure and plain. I created that, boy. I took nothing and created life."

"But- how is that _possible?_" Rufus looked at him, his blue eyes clouded with incomprehension. "How can you _create_ life?"

Hojo stared at the tank for a moment, a mélange of expressions warring on his sharp-featured face. "Many things are possible," he said, softly. "They say...they say that I am a walking mass of complexes." His voice sounded distant. "Almost. I am a walking mass of _complexities_. I am unorthodox. I take things long accepted by most scientists and I question them. I look at things from a different vantage. That is how I got to where I am today. Remember that boy, become a conformist and you will be forever mired in the standards and routines of the commonplace. Question, though, and you will rise to heights others never dreamed possible."

"Professor Hojo?" Rufus eyed the scientist apprehensively, frightened for reasons he couldn't explain at the mix of emotions he heard in his voice.

Abruptly, Hojo switched his black eyes to the boy. "You're too young to understand," he said. "Here." He handed the boy a bag. "Go around the lab and any empty test tubes you find, put them in here. Make sure that they're empty, though," he added, absently. "Your father would be too pleased if you were eaten by one of my experiments."

"Yessir." Rufus hid his smile. Over the weeks, he had come to appreciate working in the lab, it was a refreshing change from his normal day-to-day existence, and the Professor Hojo would sometimes take a moment and explain to Rufus the process of an experiment. In addition, the old scientist was the only person the boy knew who was unafraid of insulting his father the President outright, expressing exactly what he thought of the old man.

"Professor Hojo?" Rufus held up a test tube with a few drops of clear substance inside. "What about this?"

"_Put that down!_" Hojo reached out and grabbed the test tube and set it in it's holder. He looked at Rufus, who stood, head bowed.

"Sorry, sir," he said, his voice small.

The old scientist shook his head. "Watch," he said. He took the test tube and shook the few drops out onto the lab table. With the utmost precision, he added two drops of water. Immediately, the substance began to change. First, it turned blue, then green, then orange, yellow and finally, red.

As Rufus watched, the liquid began to roll over and into itself, creating undulating waves. Then, slowly, it began to build onto itself, rising higher and higher until it formed a glistening red stalagmite. When it grew as high as it could, it suddenly split and fell apart, scattering little droplets all over the table, droplets that gathered back together to begin the entire process again.

"What is it?" he asked in wonderment.

"Never mind what it is," Hojo told him, gathering the liquid back up in it's container. "Pay attention to what it does."

"I don't understand."

"No, you don't." Hojo stared at the boy thoughtfully for a moment or two, then turned back to the lab table. "It changes, boy. It goes through it's color phases until it arrives at the most practical. In this case, because of the water and the lab lighting, it was red. Remember that: change until you arrive at the most functional and most useful stage of being that you can, and always be prepared to change again at the slightest hint of necessity. 

"Then it begins to form waves. It's impatient, always looking for a way to better itself."

They watched as the red fluid piled up on itself again, rising to the peak and breaking.

"There," Hojo said. "See that, boy? It's just like what people do. They find a place that suits them and they stay there, growing higher and higher in society, getting more and more powerful, until they reach the height of their success and they break. It's inevitable. No matter how strong, or how rich a person gets, there will always be a day in which they fall. That's when the people below them gather up the remains."

Rufus stared at the scientist in rapt fascination. He had only a vague idea of what the man meant, but somehow, the words fit nicely into his brain. He absorbed them thoroughly, leaving the meaning for later. Until then, he tucked the scientist's lectures in the back of his mind, knowing, but not knowing how he knew, that a day would come when he would be glad of them.

***

Sighing heavily, Hojo straightened, wincing at the twinge he felt in his back. The years had not been kind to him, he reflected, as he moved slowly, frowning at the limp he had developed in his left leg. He had lost count of his own age long ago, indeed, years meant little to him now. Nothing mattered to him except his work.

As he sat at his desk and pulled out a folder, he paused and looked down at his hands. For as long as he could remember, he had always been a sickly child. His hands were his last reminder, his fingers pale and thin, scarred and twisted from all the years working with chemicals. But such was the price, he thought, leafing through the file. Such was the price, and a small price at that, for all his successes over the years, everything he had created, everything impossible thing he had done.

He smiled grimly as he turned the papers, yellow and brittle with age. Somewhere in the background, he was dimly aware of the lab door sliding open. Irritated, the old scientist closed the file and slid it back in his desk.

"I won't be needing you today," he said, not looking up.

"Yes, but _I_ will be needing _you_."

Startled, Hojo looked up. Standing in front of his desk was not Shinra's son, as he had expected, but Shinra himself.

"Sorry, sir," he said smoothly, rising with minor difficulty to his feet. "I wasn't aware that it was you."

Shinra waved his hand, dismissing Hojo's words. "I understand you have a former Turk in your lab, here," he said, gazing distastefully around the room.

"Yes, sir, I do." Hojo narrowed his eyes at the President's disapproving glance. If he didn't like the lab, he could very well get the hell-

"Why?" Shinra switched his eyes back to Hojo's. "I thought perhaps Sephiroth was enough, but now you're doing the same thing to a former Turk?" His eyes darkened considerable. "I'm afraid I don't approve."

Hojo stood speechless for a moment, feeling the all too familiar hate boil up inside him. Never to his knowledge had Shinra ever cared a whit about the well being of any creature, human or otherwise, in his lab. "Sir-" he began, only to be cut off by another imperious wave.

"The people are restless, Doctor," Shinra said absently, no longer even looking at the scientist anymore. "They are beginning to lose faith. Things are changing, and I must be prepared for them. I have people protesting every day in front of these offices; they want you stopped, Doctor, and that's exactly what I'm going to do." Shinra turned and began examining a wall of shelves, presenting his back to Hojo, who did not miss the slight.

"So you want me out, is that it?" Hojo hissed, his hands clenched tightly together. "After all this time, after all I've done for you, you want me out?"

"Of course not." Shinra turned back to him in feigned surprise. "You will be permitted to continue your work in this building, but there is to be absolutely no human experimentation whatsoever. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly." The word nearly choked him.

"Good, then. I'll send the boy down and you can begin cleaning out your labs of everything you need to. I expect all this to be completed by tomorrow."

Hojo watched Shinra's retreating back until the doors closed behind it. Only then did he realize that he was clenching his hands together so tightly that they ached with pain.


	11. 

"Whiskey and soda. And bartender?" 

"Sir?"

"Leave out the soda."With a muffled grunt of pain, Reno sat down at the bar next to his silent, blue-suited co-worker. "Rude, man, how's going?"

"..."

"Like normal, I see." Unlike before, Rude silence left him unperturbed, every word he failed to say didn't twang on his nerves like they had just a week earlier. Now, with the comfort of liquor and nicotine nestled securely inside him, he just took it all in stride.

"Some good work the other day." Rude's voice was low and careful as he nursed his drink. Reno glanced at him, but that larger man's eyes remained hidden behind his ever-present shades.

"Hey, thanks man." Reno found himself more than a bit wary. While accustomed to his silence, the young Turk knew that every word Rude spoke was one that spoke volumes in itself.

"You'll do."

Now it was Reno's turn for silence as he felt his face go white hot with rage. "What did you say?" he asked lowly.

"..."

"You- were _testing_ me?" Reno heard his voice getting higher with each word and struggled to bring his anger under control. Luckily, at that moment the bartender returned with his drink, saving what otherwise could have been a very unpleasant situation. And not necessarily for Rude.

Now Rude looked up from his drink to stare at his co-worker. His blank gaze made Reno uneasy as he shifted in his seat. When he stretched out the silence long enough to have felt that his point had been made, Rude spoke. "If I am going to place my life in someone else's hands, I think I have the right to know whether or not I should be writing out my will," he said, not breaking his gaze for a moment. "In that sense it was, as you put it, a "test." You passed."

"Huh. Is that supposed to make me feel honored, or something?" Reno could barely hide the cutting edge to his voice.

"..." Rude stared at him for a few moments longer, then switched his gaze back to his drink. "We are Turks. We are all we have, all we are. There is no one to trust but each other, and if we cannot then we are nothing. Remember that."

"Right." Reno tossed back his drink and shook his head. "Sure, I'll remember that." Still, there was something inside him, some tiny, almost inaudible voice in his mind telling him that this was exactly what T'seng had told him back in his office that day and in his apartment before that.

"Just how many Turks are there, anyway?" Reno asked suddenly, impulsively.

Rude turned to look at him again, but this time, his face was far from blank. Although it was impossible to see past the darkened glasses, Reno could have sworn he saw the man blink.

"...Three." Rude tilted his head slightly at Reno's surprised exclamation and raised a single brow in askance. "What were you expecting?"

"Jesus, man." Now it was Reno who blinked. "I dunno. Nothing, I guess- but three?" He sat back in his seat and let out a deep breath. "So this is it, then? You, me and T'seng." The young Turk shook his head in wonderment.

"Now do you see why it is so imperative that we all must trust each other?" Rude asked him mildly. In the corner of his mind, Reno wondered whether _mildly_ was the extent of Rude's emotional expression.

"Has it always been like this?"

Rude shook his head and hunched back over the bar. "Usually there are four of us. Last year we were down to three, then- one of us took a bullet in the back. That left me and T'seng. You were an emergency replacement."

Again, Reno felt the hot rush of anger in his blood, but quelled it. He wasn't sure if the other man was baiting him or not, but he was almost certain that the tall, dark man would never waste words in such an expedient. "Replacement or not, I'm still good enough. Found Kayli, didn't I?" he all but snarled.

This time, Rude turned in very real surprise. "That was never in doubt."

"But you just said-"

"That we needed to make sure we could trust you," Rude finished for him. "Your _ability_ was never an issue. Your integrity was." He paused, searching for the right words, words that came so easily to one who used them so little. "With so few people, our organization could easily be wiped out by a well placed assassin. A man- or woman- who is highly skilled but deceitful is ten times more dangerous than a well meaning, untrained agent." He searched Reno's face for any signs of comprehension.

Reno, who sat speechless for a few moments, was suddenly hit by a revelation. "That's what happened to the man I replaced, isn't it?" he asked with a certainty he didn't understand.

"..." Reno didn't look up as he felt his companion's eyes upon him.

"Yes and no," came the reply after a brief pause. "That is what happened to the one you replaced, but it wasn't a man. And her name was Shari."

Reno looked up at his co-worker, startled by the intensity of the emotion he heard in his voice. Rude stared into his own glass, giving no outward sign of the pain and loss in his voice.

"She was my wife."


	12. 

Rufus slipped noiselessly out of Hojo's lab and headed straight towards his room. For reasons he didn't understand, he had become frightened of the old scientist. These past few days, Hojo had seemed to recede from the rest of the world, drawing back into himself until he was nearly in a world unto himself. No matter how much Rufus tried, his questions which had before pleased and amused the scientist now served only to bother him.

His young mind dwelled on these oddities as he walked back to his rooms, passing through into the bedroom. He went through the familiar routine of removing his jacket and locking the doors before reached under his bed for his paper wrapped secret. First he put aside the finished painting of Reno, the one he had created the day they had met. Then he sorted through a number of half completed portraits and landscapes before finaly putting them all aside. He shook his head, trying to clear his restless mind, brushing his fingers over a blank, white canvas. It was time for something new, something more than just mindless child's play. He needed to create something with meaning, that meant more to him than to anyone else. He had only created something like that once before, the portrait of Reno. Every time he looked at that painting, he felt a surge of emotion, too complicated for his young mind to sort out and comprehend. It was nearly sexual in its intensity, but there was none of the usual attraction that went along with such things. It was as if the painting was part of him.

None of these things passed through his conscious mind as he took out his brushes and gazed at the white canvas. Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, Rufus sketched the outline of a man leaning over a table. As he worked, the light in his eyes intensified and seemed almost to glow. He added details, then switched over to anther corner of the canvas where he began another outline. Then another. A fourth.

Hours later, four fully detailed drawings of two men stared abstractly out from the canvas. Hojo leaned over his beloved lab table, strands of hair hanging in his face. Above him, Reno stood with his mag-rod across his shoulders, a cigarette hanging easily from his fingers. In opposite corners, profiles of them both stared unblinkingly, their burdens clear in their eyes.

Rufus sighed as he gazed at the portraits. Perfect color stared back at him, neither challenging nor accepting. They simply were. Like so many things in life that he never questioned, never thought twice about. They simply were.

After he carefully placed it back under his bed, Rufus threw himself back on the bed and lay staring at the window, letting his thoughts arrange themselves in his head.

Absently, he laid his fingers on the bruise that covered his right jawbone and grimaced. By this stage in the game, he had learned to take the blows without complaint, as silently as he took everything else from his father. Not that it mattered, the contact between fist and bone had long since lost its pain. Nothing hurt him anymore, for nothing could compare to the most vicious abuse his father could mete out.

_"I should have just had you killed with her_._"_

Though he had tried, seeking solace for a time first in the lab work Hojo gave him, then in the trance of painting, Rufus could not erase from his memory the words his father had spat and burned into his brain. Now they came rushing back at him with full force.

He had suspected, of course, he was smarter than most people, including his father, gave him credit for. The official story was that his mother had died from an inadvertent overdose of sleeping pills. No one question the story, which seemed plausible enough. His mother, who had been a waitress at a bar when Shinra met her, had been taking a veritable cocktail of tranquilizers and anti-depressants to varying degrees of success. Not that anyone blamed her, either. After Rufus was born, Shinra had cast aside his wife in favor of a series of mistresses. Rufus' mother flatly denied any unfaithfulness on her husband's part, even as he was whispered about from all sides. Despite her denials, Rufus became more and more aware of a growing tension between his parents. He tried to brush it off as his imagination and when that became impossible, he threw himself into his art, trying to shut out the elements of the outside world.

After his mother's death, however, the whispers grew louder and more frequent until even he could no longer ignore them completely. Shinra himself began to show signs of discomfort, coming across as terse and snappish to his employees.

It took time, nearly six months after the fact, but eventually someone came out and said it. Jacob Shinra had killed his own wife. After that, the city was abuzz with gossip, some of it more true than other.

While Shinra had his hands full trying to appease a restless and demanding city, Rufus, in his quiet, unobtrusive manner, began to find out on his own just how much truth was in the rumors floating through the very halls of ShinRa. He had met with very limited success until now, nearly three years after he had stopped searching.

_"I should have just had you killed with her_._"_

Rufus hadn't even had to ask who he meant by "her." He knew, and somehow he'd known the whole time. Still, some parts of him refused to believe it. The little boy in him, for little boy was indeed still who he was, clung to the last shreds of the family he had created in his mind for himself, the accident, the grief stricken husband and father, the man who loved his son. Even through the beatings and the shouting, Rufus tried with all his heart to believe that his father was trying to do the best he could for his son in the only way he knew how. He wanted to believe and so, for a long while, he did.

But after last night, he knew he could not afford to believe any longer.

_Why, father?_ For the first time since his mother died, Rufus felt the tears of grief sadness sting the backs of his eyes. It was fitting, for in a sense his father had died as well, the vision of a father that Rufus had secretly harbored in the corners of his heart. Now that vision was gone. It had been brought down by the words that still rang in his ears like the bells of Hell's chapel. He knew now, beyond the shadow of a doubt.

His father had killed his mother.

He had tried to avoid those words since his father himself had confirmed them. Against his will, though, they surfaced and stared at him, feeling like a slap in the face. Staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, he mouthed the word through dry, cold lips.

_Mother_

And as he said it Rufus Shinra, heir to ShinRa Inc, broke down and cried.


End file.
